Going Through the Motions
by Adam Shmadam
Summary: One shot, set sometime Season 6  maybe 7 .


He watched as her fingers deftly took out her keys and unlocked the door in one fluid motion. He wasn't surprised that he was barely through the door when her lips forcefully found his. Indeed, probably anyone within twenty feet of them at the restaurant they had just left would hardly be surprised, based on the flirting that had been going on. She tasted of wine, and he needed more of her. As her hands grabbed at his shirt, he pinned her to the wall of the hallway.

"Please, Harry…"

His lips ventured down her neck, and her response to him was encouraging, to say the least. He moved up again towards her earlobe, and he encountered an earring with his lips. The tiniest of voices entered his head, and he brutally tamped it back down. It had been a long time, too long, he thought, and this was exactly what he needed. The voice in his head was insistent though, and although his body was willing, his spirit definitely was not. _This is not right. _He could bury most things, but this would not go away. He was going through the motions, and deluding himself was one thing, but implicating someone else in his lies was quite another.

He pulled away from her as if he had been burnt, and she was understandably confused.

"I'm sorry…I…I can't…do this..." he stammered.

She playfully grabbed at him.

"Oh, I think you can."

"You misunderstand."

He continued to pull away from her, and reflexively wiped his lips with his fingers. He sighed deeply, turned around, and sat down on her couch in the front room with his head in his hands.

She was completely at a loss. She wasn't sure if she should be more disappointed or angry. She thought she knew him well, but she was confused. She sat down next to him, and he flinched.

"Harry…"

He lifted his head, but kept his eyes resolutely fixed to the floor, as if his life depended on him memorizing the pattern of her carpet.

"I am truly sorry. I thought I was ready, but I've been deluding myself."

"There's someone else, isn't there?" If anything, she wasn't stupid, and early on she had thought this was the case, but had succumbed to his charm and buried the suspicion.

"There _was_."

"Was?" This was getting worse and worse. She could handle a flesh and blood rival, but ghosts were something else entirely.

"It's complicated."

"No doubt." She knew, or thought she knew, what he did for a living.

"It's not fair to you. I'm always going to be in love with her, and you deserve someone who is going to give you his full attention." He finally looked up at her and continued,

"I honestly thought I could do this…but I can't, as much as I want to."

"Please spare me the "It's not you, it's me" speech." She had decided to be angry.

"That's the problem, though, isn't it? It _is_ me. How can I be with you, when I'm always comparing you, either consciously or unconsciously, to her? Is that what you want?"

It was a bit cruel, but he should've guessed that anything less would be dishonest, and he was tired to lying to her, and himself. He knew he deserved her anger, and in the long run would be easier for her to move on. He envied her that ability.

"I never intended this, and I'm sorry."

"Bastard." He couldn't help but think back to another time when someone had called him that, and it only served to make him sadder, which he had scarcely thought was possible.

"I know, believe me."

She barely heard the door click behind him when he left.

It had started innocently at first. They were at one of those god-awful receptions created by politicians so they could periodically pat themselves on the back at great expense. She struck up a conversation with him, and they found that they shared an opinion on what a waste of time the evening was turning out to be. She was undeniably attractive, with long dark hair and blue eyes. Harry tried not to wonder if the color of her eyes also changed with the weather. An invitation for drinks had turned into one for dinner, and Harry had found himself inexplicably telling her what he did for a living. She had been mildly surprised, but was wise enough to not ask too many questions. Maybe that was what he had liked about her – she didn't ask anything of him. They saw each other casually, as much as his unpredictable schedule would allow. They conversed easily, and laughed often. He enjoyed her company, but invariably would think about _her_ in those rare quiet moments. He kept telling himself that it would pass and he needed to start living in the present.

Ever so gradually, he thought he was winning the battle against himself. Until tonight. Until he had been brought to the edge of the precipice, and could not help but look down. He had sought some comfort, absolution, but there was none to be had. He was looking for it in the wrong place.

After his bitter divorce, he had taken solace in burying himself even more in work. But now, he couldn't even do that. The Grid was rife with reminders of her. It was always little things – someone would mention a past operation or he would open a file to see notes scrawled in the margins in her handwriting. Connie somehow knew and her wry comments about it were getting on his nerves. _Pull yourself together, Pearce_. _You stupid, sad bastard. _

Harry found himself on that bloody dock again, bottle of scotch in hand. It was the first time he had been there since Ruth left. _Ruth._ He had even tried to not say her name, as if that would make a difference. He longed to talk to her, hear her voice – she knew him well enough to understand. She also challenged him, forced him outside of himself like no one else could do. To say he missed her was a silly statement. It was like saying you missed your hand or your foot. She had become a part of him, and now he was lost. He wondered, for the millionth time that evening, how she was. He had resisted the urge to try to find her. If he could track her down, so could their enemies. With every fiber of his being, he hoped she was well and happy. He wanted her to be able to move on, find someone who could express his emotions and give her the life she deserved. His lack of jealousy surprised him and he couldn't help but softly chuckle at the irony.

He drank as he watched the moonlight dance off the water, and he stayed there until he was numb, both physically and emotionally. Work would beckon him soon, and if he were lucky, he may be able to sleep for a few hours without nightmares tonight. He shakily stood up, and raising his bottle to the sky, said what he had meant to tell her ages ago:

"God help us, Ruth, I love you. I tried not to, and I've tried to get over you, but I have my limitations."

Thanks for reading…I'd love reviews! This has been brewing in my head for awhile…don't worry, I'm still got at least another chapter of "Couplehood" coming up soon, it's just taking longer than I thought.


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